


Collared

by loveslashangst, ophymirage



Series: The Eleven!Amy KinkMeme Chronicles - Dark Side [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Electrical Play, F/M, Kink Meme, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Non Consensual, Other, Painplay, Slavery, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveslashangst/pseuds/loveslashangst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophymirage/pseuds/ophymirage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is evil. Rory is dead. Amy is a nympho with a taste for dark sex. Unfortunately, she keeps wandering off. So it's up to the Doctor to teach her a lesson she will NEVER forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest thing we've ever written. When TDDD was posted to the eleventy_kink meme, we got an inspirational request for a sequel from the kink's OP, excerpted here:  
> _  
> Despite the mind-fuckery Dark!Doctor has committed on Amy, part of her psyche isn't taking his domination completely seriously, making her rebel slightly, act out - go wandering off, for example._
> 
> To show her the danger of his actions, the Doctor takes her to a planet where he knows she'll wander off, and she promptly gets captured and sold as a slave.
> 
> She's at auction and thinks that the Doctor will bid on her, but he deliberately lets her get bought by someone else?
> 
> Beta'ed under "threat" of John Hart's knife by [ophymirage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ophymirage).

The Doctor wasn't going to do it, but then Amy pissed him off for the last time, the disobedient tart. Now no matter what happens, it's her fault.

He has three rules. They're simple rules. Two syllables or less so they're easy to remember, even for stupid apes: "Do what I tell you. Don't ask stupid questions. Don't wander off."

Despite being a fantastic shag with a masochistic streak (and a natural ginger, the bitch) Amy cannot seem to grasp -- let alone follow -- any of the above rules. She's mouthy. Stubborn. Nosy. And once she gets a wild hair about the "right" thing to do, there's just no reasoning with her.

So of course, he brought her to Naos.

He loves Naos. A man can buy anything here, especially if it's alive, breathing, fuckable, and speaks a language. Slave traders have made this place their home for about two thousand years now. He lured Amy here with the promise of "the Sotheby's of planets". Told her it was something like Lloyd's of London, only slightly less ruthless.

And she bought it. Now, this would've been a fine thing. He might even have sprung for a lovely lad so they could have a dirty weekend showing Amy the joys of a threesome. Or at least have bought her a few new shiny and vibrating toys to keep her occupied. But she just had to go and break one of his Three Rules. She realized the collection of spacecraft and vessels was a cobbled-together slavers' paradise and had to swan off to try to free the very lad the Doctor had been eyeing as a shag-tastic potential sub candidate.

He sighs impatiently as he consults the sonic screwdriver. (Have to isolate where in this mishmash of mutually-docked spacecraft his own property has got to.) He would just chuck the whole hero pretence and buy himself a new plaything, but Companions are so bloody time-consuming to have to break in. (Besides, why buy what you can steal under the guise of virtue?) He'd finally gotten Amy used to the four-to-five-a-day regimen that he prefers. Had shown her the real uses for just about every orifice on her body. Discovered that her love of receiving pain mixed with pleasure almost rivals his own love of giving it.

And she's a natural ginger. Even down to the minge. Damn that girl.

Fortunately, he had a chance to observe her before she ran off to rescue her slave boy. See what kind of aliens would freak her out the most without snapping her mind completely. He's looking for milder trauma, the kind that leaves a mark, but doesn't incapacitate, as he's got serious plans for that lovely little arse of her once he finds and retrieves it.

She squicks at tentacles. He's rifled through her memories enough to "see" the time she found some truly vile hentai in Jeff's web history. To her credit, she did break up with him, mostly because he wasn't nearly as inventive as his taste in kink might indicate. And the Complication, of course, was too much the gentleman to imagine the sound fucking that actually does it for his intended. Thus, the Doctor's had the responsibility of nearly all her training. Lucky for him, someone jammed a fifty-first century libido into Amy's curvaceous twenty-first century body, so it's been easy enough to employ basic reward/punishment classical conditioning for her training.

Punishing Amy. Yes. There's a Sulamid captain skulking around. Gorgeous species, all smooth tentacles, big watery eyes, and colour-change skin. Like shagging a psychedelic humanoid octopus. And they have a fetish for humans, as do most of the species here in the 38th century.

So the Doctor makes the captain an offer that turns him shades of pulsing pale green and red with lust. Amy's sure to get captured sooner or later. When she is, and then isn't claimed by anyone, she'll be put up on the auction block. Enter Captain Squick (whose actual name is "Lir", pronounced like an uncomfortable stare), with a pocketful of credits supplied by Yours Truly, and the fun should begin. The Doctor makes sure to pad the purse a bit, promising Captain Squick that he'll get to enjoy the girl (in the biblical sense, of course) for the better part of a week before the Doctor comes and "rescues" her. The colour patterns speed. Takes Captain Squick half a deck to stop flashing pale green.

Amy wants to be obstinate? Let her fuck with technicolor humanoid hentai. Then maybe she'll listen when the Doctor tells her not to fucking wander off.

Sonic screwdriver says she's on the next ship. Moving quickly. Probably running for it, knowing her. She's a wily little minx, and has probably already sprung her slave boy. Good. Things should time out perfectly.

His next stop is the Bouncers. Cops aren't welcome near Naos, nor are Shadow Proclamation, Judoon, or Time Agents, but every self-respecting hive of scum and villainy needs someone to make sure things stay (relatively) civilized. The Doctor collars a (more or less) lady Bouncer. Explains what nonsense his Sub has got up to. Gives her Amy's last known location and likely escape route. Plans out with her what he'll do when they find his missing shag-toy. Greases another palm and makes another deal.

Feeling much more cheerful, the Doctor whistles his way toward the Main Auction Bay, which is currently on a commandeered Tlaxian luxury cruiser. House S'ian's boys are back in fighting trim again. Nice ship they stole.

****

Amy is running for her life. And not only for her own life, but for Naet's as well. His hand is hot in hers. They dodge and duck through the crowd. He pulls her into an alcove. Hits a button. The door slides shut. They're alone in a little space that's either an escape pod or a lift.

Check that. There are random coats at Naet's back. It's a bloody closet.

He kisses her. The rows of decorative chains across his neck and chest clink and chime enticingly. Because he's a slave, his master has him dressed (if you can call it that) in little more than chains and a mini-kilt that just barely covers his arse. She can smell the heat of him. Sweat and arousal and dear GOD the man can kiss.

Adrenaline is a heady high. Makes it hard to think straight. And she's in a very short skirt of her own, mostly because whenever the Doctor takes her anyplace, they usually end up finding a convenient place to shag. And she's learned to associate running with the Doctor fucking the life out of her after. She needs a cock in her, RIGHT NOW, just at the thought of him.

Naet's built like a dream and dressed like the coverboy of a top-shelf spank-mag. He also kisses like he hasn't had any decent action since puberty, his hands all over her. And she's not going to stop him. She probably should -- the Doctor's awfully possessive and not known for playing nicely -- but a quick, hot fuck is exactly what she needs. A good orgasm -- maybe even two, if she can get herself off quickly enough -- and then she'll see about finding the Doctor. (And it'll serve him right for not being here now.)

She reaches down to find what Naet's got under his short kilt and is pleased to find that Scots aren't the only ones who go Regimental. No doubt he expected to find knickers in the way, but the Doctor's such an unpredictable sex partner that she's taken to wearing crotchless panties. Saves time and prevents her unmentionables from being summarily ripped or sonic'd off when the Doctor gets impatient.

She wraps her hand around Naet's cock. Gives him a few quick strokes. He moans. Buries his mouth in her neck. Sucks hard. Shit. MARKS. The Doctor's gonna know what she's been doing. She presses down the panic. No. Not this time. Let him know. Let him be jealous. It'll just mean he'll be rougher than usual, which will suit them both.

The cock in her hand is thick. Hot. (So much hotter than the Doctor.) Not quite as long as she'd like, but still good. And the idea of getting her own back with just a little rebellion is really, really hot. The Doctor's gonna be well pissed, and both of them will…

Naet's strong enough to pick her up. She wraps her legs around his waist. He pins her to the wall. Spreads her thighs wide. Fucks in hard and fast. Bounces her on his hips. God, he's lovely… And she's going to… Going to… goingtogoingtogoingto…!

The door rips open. Naet freezes mid-stroke, mouth hanging open. He looks terrified and (alas) a bit trout-like.

She's not sure what cops look like in the 38th century, but she's guessing that the black leather gear this lot is sporting is their version of a bobby's costume.

They demand to see her identification. She left her purse on the TARDIS, not that an ID from Leadworth would be terribly helpful here.

They demand a sample of her DNA. She holds out an arm for the shot-hypo-thingie.

They demand the name of her master. She goggles at the thought.

They snatch her and Naet out. Check the ident tag implanted in his collar. Hustle him off. He looks like he's about to cry. One of them (the one who might be female) snaps a collar around her neck. Puts a lead on it, like she's a dog.

She tries to object. The woman yanks the lead.

She tries to call out. The woman yanks the lead.

She grabs the lead. The woman brandishes a short thing that looks like a riding crop. Rogue electricity crackles threateningly around its tip.

Pissed off, Amy tugs harder. The woman switches her arse with a charge that rips a scream out of her.

She decides that it's better to go with them and hope for the Doctor to come for her.

Apparently, Naet's costume was not just due to the tragically poor taste of his master, but appears to be standard for those in servitude. Also, becoming a slave here involves losing all of one's clothing. Amy tries to hold onto the crotchless knickers (any panties are better than none), but the woman cop just flips open a switch-blade and cuts them off of her. Runs fingers (embarrassingly) through her still-dripping and unsatisfied slit.

Amy yelps, furious, but the cop just grins and shows her dampened fingers off to her teammates, who laugh and finish stripping her.

When she shouts for the Doctor, they gag her.

When she fights back, they restrain her with wrist cuffs that hook to a belt around her waist.

When she tries to make a run for it, they stun her silly.

One of the cop people (a big, burly guy) picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. She can hear the sounds of an auction ahead, and wishes hopelessly that the Doctor will find her quickly.

*******

The Doctor is well pleased with the proceedings. Caught in the act, stripped and processed, and now carried off to be sold. Life is good, and his part in this little melodrama is about to unfold. Like the consummate actor he is, he takes his place and prepares to make the scene.

*******

This can't be happening. Amy's set on a platform. The Auctioneer has her turned around. They place a webbing of wires on her head. It projects a series of holograms.

Her and the Doctor's first violent shag after they lost Rory. The series of quickies by and in the pool. Fucking in his room. Fucking in her room. That really fantastic blowjob she gave him on the last planet they were on. Him bending her over the console. Stripping her bare. Tying her up. Switching arse and quim till she begged him to fuck her. Using a whole arsenal of toys on her till she screamed. Fucking her: up, down and sideways. The first time he took her arse. Coming in her. Coming because of her. Coming on her.

It's both humiliating and hypnotic to watch. She's dimly aware of the Auctioneer touting her sexual prowess. Saying the next master will "barely have to break this one in."

She looks out at the crowd and shudders. No humans. No Doctor. Nothing even vaguely familiar.

With a crackle of an electro-static gavel, the bidding begins.

Wait, there's hope. A deadly handsome man in a bright red coat. Human, with wavy blondish-brown hair, killer cheekbones, blue-grey eyes, and the kind of mouth a girl could kiss for days. That one might not be so bad. OOH! And he's bidding.

But so is that oh-my-god-what-escaped-from-the-nightmare-aquarium alien to his right. If cephalopods could leer, that one is.

There's another man, though. Dark hair. Blue eyes. The look of a film idol from years ago. He might not be bad either.

He comes over to Red Coat. Whispers something in his ear. Sits down next to him. Eyes Amy up like she's a lamb roast in a butcher's display case. They're together? This is definitely promising.

Blue Eyes leans over as Red Coat raises his hand again. The holographic display's still riffling her memories above her head -- she catches a glimpse of Jeff's orgasm-face (ew, talk about things she never needed to see again) -- so she focuses instead on these two, who are at least human, and tries to look encouragingly at them.

The two of them together -- that would be something, wouldn't it? Maybe a bit of all right. Being held between them? Fucking one and sucking the other? Her body tightens. God, she wouldn't mind at all having them between her legs. Either. Both. (If only she'd been able to finish with Naet she could've at least taken the edge off. Dammit!) She keeps her eyes on Red Coat and his even more gorgeous friend. Maybe they'd take turns? Maybe even…

Red Coat sits up, eyes wide and alert. Signals again to the auctioneer. All the ennui has vanished from his body language. Something's gotten him hot, bothered, and a bit hyper to keep raising the price. Unfortunately, the tentacle thing and a few others are also much more enthusiastic as well. (Red Coat and his friend are still the only humans in the crowd.) Red Coat leans back, one hand casually rubbing the rather impressive bulge in his jeans. Points out something to Blue Eyes, who is ignoring him in favor of scanning the crowd like a third-year in Honeydukes.

Something else with spines (quills?) saunters over to the two humans. Blue Eyes looks up. Grins. Drags the alien down by one (paw? Appendage?) onto his lap. The two begin necking enthusiastically.

Shit. The prettiest ones are always the kinkiest.

Okay. Red Coat's still bidding, the stubbornly insistent raise of a gorgeous hand. He has a devilish look in his eyes, but at least he only has two eyes and two hands. There's hope.

Then she notices what's on the hologram. The thing on her head's not reading her memories anymore. Above her, a virtual her has Blue Eyes' cock in her mouth while Red Coat enthusiastically fucks her from behind. The threesome (imaginary! She was just trying not to get bought by something alien and horrid!) changes positions. Again. Again. Again.

Horrified, she looks to the auctioneer. Never slowing his spill of numbers and cajoling for a moment, he grins evilly at her.

The hologram thing's reading her mind. She tries to go blank. It just begins to loop, showing her and the Doctor one minute . Her and the lovely pair of humans the next.

And still her price goes higher.

A familiar voice chimes in. Outbids them all. Her entire body relaxes. Her Doctor. It's him. He's going to save her. That long, lanky body she loves so well appears at the front of the crowd. He looks both annoyed and reassuring (and more than a little aroused.) She must be a hell of a spectacle in her chain top and very short skirt. His eyes sweep her from head to toe, a quick perusal, but enough to turn the visuals on the hologram back to just the memories of her and him.

He grins at her and signals the auctioneer again.

Annoyed, Red Coat protests the bid. Calls for the Doctor to put up or shut up. Amy's heart is beating too fast as the Doctor approaches the auctioneer's table; he never has enough money, and these are not the kind of people to bluff with.

Tentacle Monster, flashing pale green and black, joins the objection. The Doctor tries to talk his way out, but she can see already that -- as always -- he just jumped in on this one.

When they discover the Doctor has no money of any kind, they drag him off. His eyes meet hers. "Don't wander off! I'll come for you!"

She tries to leap from the stage. Hits an invisible barrier. It knocks her to the ground, where she lays, stunned.

Two of the bondage cops come and pick her up. Shorten her chain to the platform till she's bent nearly double. She blushes down to her nipples to think of how on display she is now. And it's just turning her on more.

The bidding resumes, more hard-fought than ever. Happily, Red Coat is winning. She might be saved.

As he bids, Red Coat takes out a knife. Looks irritatedly at Blue Eyes and the hedgehog thing, whose quills have been slowly erecting under the man's stroking hands. Red Coat presses the knife blade to Blue Eyes' (gorgeous) jawline and the man freezes. Slowly withdraws his hands. Smiles his regret to the hedgehog alien, who smiles in return. Another warning glare from Red Coat and the alien beats a hasty retreat.

Blue Eyes pouts. And god, he's cute when he does. Red Coat presses the knife to the perfect skin at Blue Eyes' collar. Just enough to cause a thin line of red to bead up. Blue Eyes moans, audible even over the noise of the hologram and the auctioneer's gavel and the steady patter of the auctioneer.

Red Coat withdraws the blade. Licks the edge of it. Blue Eyes leans forward. Licks the other edge of the knife. His tongue tangles openly with that of his partner as they lick the blood off the very sharp and very shiny blade.

The auctioneer is demanding. Cajoling. Trying to get Red Coat to go even higher. Red Coat reluctantly pulls back from the knife-bladed kiss. Waves a graceful hand to signal his bid. Blue Eyes eyes her the way a footballer looks at a pint. Leans back and stretches both legs out. And because the cut of his trousers leaves nothing to the imagination, she can tell how much he's enjoying the proceedings. Though the wound at his throat has clotted, his neck is still smeared with it.

Even as he continues to bid, Red Coat runs the dagger up Blue Eyes' chest. Digs the point near a nipple. Along his jaw. Over his lips. Foreplay. Shit. This is their idea of foreplay. And if this is what they're willing to do in public…

With a start, she realizes how much unmarked white skin she is showing. They're going to buy her and carve her up.

Frantic, she looks around, hoping for other bidders. Worse and worse -- while she was focusing on the Psycho Knife Twins, her price skyrocketed. Apparently, it's now too rich for most of the bidders' blood, though there are certainly plenty of eyes (and other frightening appendages) focussed on the proceedings. The only competitor left is Tentacle Monster.

So now it's living sushi or sushi chef. Which one's worse?

The auctioneer is challenging the Sushi. Oh god, he doubles the asking price. The auctioneer turns to Red Coat and Blue Eyes. There's a whispered exchange that turns heated. Eventually, Red Coat, sulking and annoyed, shakes his head no.

The gavel falls with a crackling thwack. The Sushi has won.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written for the "drugs/aphrodisiacs" kink_bingo prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con. Non-con. Slavery (voluntary and otherwise). BDSM. Alien!sex. Begging. Holding down. Forced sex. Abuse of orifices. Collar/leash-training. Electrical-play. Vaginal and anal plugs. Thirty-eighth-century opera. Spanking. Evil. More evil. Profanity.
> 
> The Sulamid alien is still borrowed and revamped from [Ceefax the Sane](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=21007&warning=Adult).
> 
> Beta'ed with extra happy tentacles by [ophymirage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ophymirage).

_The gavel falls with a crackling thwack. The Sushi has won._

Amy goes numb. It's as if the skin on her face doesn't quite connect with the tissue underneath. As if someone's put a cold gel all over her body. For a moment, all she can do is stare in disbelief as they take the wire-thingies off her head and the gag from her mouth. The holographic generator goes dark.

The Doctor didn't come for her.

Not yet. But he will. He always does. (Even if it's years later. God DAMN him.) When the bondage cops come for her, she doesn't fight. Lets them clip a lead onto her collar. Follows them without comment or complaint as they lead her to another room. (Maybe some kind of examination room? There's a table in there like the kind she's seen in a doctor's office.) She keeps her eyes on the ground -- if she looks at the Sushi, she'll panic. Besides, meek and docile is less likely to get her arse kicked until she can think of a way out of this.

The Sushi comes in, the female bondage cop places Amy's lead in one of his two-pronged tentacles, which ripples in bands of red and pale green, and the nightmare becomes real.

And then they leave her there. Alone. She stares hard at the floor. She'll be damned if she's going to let this bastard see her cry.

"I am Captain Lir," says the thing in a harsh voice. He literally sounds like a fish out of water -- as if the air's too dry for him, which it probably is. He reaches out to touch her collar, which pulses and beeps its way to life. "I understand you are called 'Amy.' You are now mine; my slave to be used for my gratification and enjoyment. Do you understand me?"

She keeps her eyes firmly on the floor.

He jerks the lead. "Do you understand, Amy? Answer."

She bites her lip. Her throat closes down on what little voice she might've had.

With a bubbling sigh, the alien flicks a bifurcated tentacle. Apparently, it's his species' equivalent of clicking his fingers.

Pain. White hot. Radiating out and down. Too intense to scream. Hurts. Everywhere. Can't. Breathe. When she can see again, she's flat on the decking. Convulsing. Back arching. Can't move.

She's dimly aware of the Sushi (Lir. Captain Lir.) shouting at the top of his voice. The room is suddenly full of bondage cops. "… too expensive for so high a setting!" Lir shouts. "Ramp it down or I will return the goods and demand a refund!"

Someone fiddles with her collar. A sound that's painfully close to the buzz of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. The agony stops as suddenly as it started, leaving her dizzy and limp. Pinpricks of light waltz in crazy patterns before her eyes. That's not good. But she might be able to move now. A voice that blurs in and out assures her new master that she should be fine.

Captain (Sushi) Lir kneels, a puddle of tentacles, beside her. Caresses her face, a brush of smooth muscle. "Slave. Amy. Speak if you can."

"He's going…" Her mouth has never been so dry, like static electricity on her tongue. "To kill you all."

Aqua blue. Concern? With luck, she won't know him long enough to have to learn the colour code. "Who will?"

She swallows hard. Moistens her lips. "The Doctor."

"Which doctor?" he says.

"The Doctor," she says. "My Doctor."

"Your former master?" Orange ripples of amusement. Like an octopus, not only does the alien change colour, but every colour has its own texture. Orange is vaguely spiky. Lir chuckles lowly, a rush of cool air. "You're very naïve, Amy. No one is coming for you. Now. Address me by my name."

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. She blinks them away, impatient. "Captain… Lir."

"Good. Kneel."

She fights her way up to kneeling, determined to keep whatever dignity she can muster under the circumstances. (Going from sprawled to kneeling is hard when one's hands are bound to one's waist.)

Orange and red, with spots of pale green that pulse as she watches. It's mildly hypnotic. "Good," says her master. "Now we finish the preliminaries and I can take you home." He peers at her. (Don't flinch. Don't flinch. And don't pull away.) "If I unbind you, will you be calm and submissive?"

She nods.

He looks unconvinced. (Which is kinda turquoise-y.) He fingers the lead.

"I will be calm and submissive," she says, then thinks to add, "Captain Lir." When the Doctor did this kind of dominant/submissive thing, he usually insisted on absolute politeness. (Which is a fuck of a turn-on.) And no matter what he threatened, it was always a game to get them both off. The key was to pretend to obey and appeal to his ego.

She's going to hang onto that thought. This thing's spent a fortune on her, and he obviously doesn't want her damaged or he wouldn't have just bawled out the guys for setting her collar too high. She's pretty sure he doesn't want to kill her. He definitely does want sex, but maybe she can make some kind of deal that'll fend him off until the Doctor comes for her.

Lir unbuckles the wrist-cuffs, though not the belt. Okay. This is better. As a gesture of good faith, she puts her hands on the tops of her thighs, kneeling demurely. (Though as soon as she spots anything that can be used as a weapon, this guy's in a lot of trouble.)

"Beautiful," Lir breathes. She squeezes her eyes closed as he reaches out to caress her face. Turns it to one side, then to the other. "You are unharmed?"

"Yes, Captain Lir." Thank god he's not slimy. She couldn't have handled slimy. He's not insect-y or spider-y either, which is also a mercy. Instead, he's sort of… snakelike. Smooth. Neither cool nor warm. He's all muscle under the skin, though. She has no doubt that he's very dangerous when pissed off, so yeah, the goal is definitely not to piss him off. So she'll play the slave. Maybe turn on the flirt a little. Cock-tease if she has to, but mostly stay out of grabbing range and look for a way out.

The Doctor better get here soon, because this is just not on.

"Just beautiful," the alien captain says, sounding smug.

She remembers her manners. "Thank you, Captain Lir."

Rippling textured red and smooth pale green, Lir beckons a servant over. It's vaguely cat-man-ish, about the size of a ten-year-old human, and she has no idea whether it's "boy", "girl", or "other". The servant presents Lir with what appears to be some kind of briefcase. Humming his satisfaction, Lir opens it with a flourish. Inside, nested in a form-fitting layer of cushioning foam, are two things Amy can't identify. Short. Squat. Smooth. Kind of contoured, though they're narrower at the top, flare in the middle, shrink down to a little stem, and then each has a flat, slender base. Kind of like a mushroom on a stand. They're small, though.

And she suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.

"Lie on the table," the alien says. "And part your legs to present your sex."

Not good. Not good. Not good. Okay, how to tell him to sod off without pissing him off? "Please, Captain Lir. I mean…"

"Lie on the table," he repeats. "And part your legs to present your sex."

She freezes.

He huffs, annoyed. "I'm not going to fuck you in here in front of the Bouncers, Amy -- it's beneath my station. You're for my private pleasure only. Let those who want to watch buy their own human. Now do as you're told."

Shaking, she lies on the table. Spreads her knees. Tries to think of this as some kind of demented gynaecological exam.

She does jump at the first touch on her privates. She can't help it. She has to force her breathing to slow. Hyperventilating won't help her. She looks anywhere but at the (monster) alien standing between her knees.

He's actually being fairly decent about it, clinical and impersonal. Maybe parting a girl's labia to expose her quim is part of his normal daily regimen. She inhales hard when the smooth metal slides inside. It doesn't hurt, but it is weird.

"You may touch this without injury," Lir says. "As may I. Any others will… regret… their interest. You are for me and me alone." He reaches for the second object (plug, oh shit, it's a plug). Considers it. "Each of these will track the number of times they are removed. If I discover you've removed them for anyone but me, I will kill you both."

She forces her voice to work, "Yes, Captain Lir."

She yelps when he slides the second one into her arse. Again, it's not pain, just a rude fucking shock. "Every orifice," he continues, "is bought and paid for. You exist only for my pleasure."

When she glares at him, he does the tentacle-flick thing.

Pain. Radiating down from the damn collar. Not as bad as last time, but enough to make her whimper.

"I can be kind," he says. "Or I can be cruel. If you are kind to me, I will be kind to you. Do you understand?"

She struggles to get her breathing under control. "Yes… Captain…Lir."

Tentacle click. The pain stops as suddenly as it starts. "Good. Get off the table, kneel on the floor, and wait for my command."

Determination alone helps her wriggle off the table and onto the floor. The plugs shift inside her as she kneels. They're surprisingly comfortable for all that they're fucking weird. She resists the urge to wriggle too much, as she'd really rather not get shocked again. Okay. She can survive this. The Doctor's probably somewhere near here. Maybe fighting off bondage cops and whatever else is in his way. But he's smart. Smarter than anyone she's ever met. And he loves her madly enough that he can barely keep his hands off her when they're together. That means he's coming for her.

And she's starting to feel like she's been on her knees forever. She blushes, humiliated and angry to have such an audience. From what she can see out of the corners of her eyes, the bondage cops look entertained.

"I watched your neural net display," says Lir. "You served your previous master frequently and well. Now you will serve me."

She hears herself say the obedient words again, and is determined not to let this asshole break her. No matter what he does, she can take it. It's like being a kiss-o-gram (which she was damn good at) only more intense. She can survive until the Doctor comes for her.

Lir caresses her face again. Threads curious tentacles through her hair. She shuts her eyes. Tries to concentrate on the texture instead of thinking about what's touching her. Like weird snakeskin, or someone with odd gloves. It's weird to have one person be able to touch her in so many places, but it's not all bad either. She can do this. Just focus on the here and now. The alien strokes down her arms. Up over her thighs. Jingles through the chains on her chest. Across her face. There now, that's not so bad, now is it? He thinks she's beautiful. That's a good thing. She'll just play along, lull him into a false sense of security and maybe look for a chance to pull a Princess Leia and throttle him with her lead.

"So lovely," Lir says. (And what a mercy that, unlike the Doctor, he can't appear to read thoughts.) He pulls her gently to her feet.

She forces herself to stand without flinching as he keeps running his (don't say tentacle, don't say tentacle) _hands_ all over her. Fingers, right? Sexy little fingers. Dozens of them. That thought actually reminds her of the time Jeff took her down to London. The two of them got high as kites on E at a rave. Everyone was stoned off their arses. Dancing with absolute freedom. Touching each other because just feeling another person's body, clothes, or skin was like a revelation. Like the second coming. And she did come, first on a stranger's hand, then when Jeff shagged her nice and hard in the loo.

"And where are you now?" Lir's rough voice startles her. "When you wish to be away from reality?" A forked tentacle grips her chin and face.

"A dance," she admits. A little truth makes the lying easier -- something she learnt from the Doctor. (Don't open your eyes. Keep 'em closed. You can talk to him with eyes closed.) "We took drugs. Danced. Touched each other. It was sexy."

Slightly spiky and roughened stripes ripple along her skin. (Hands. They're hands in textured gloves.)

"I like this plan," Lir says.

The trip back to the ship is a blur. A total of four of the little cat-man aliens flank them as they march through the crowd. They don't look like much of a bodyguard detail until a careless blue alien gets too close. Then the claws and fangs come out (literally). And the little guys must have a helluva reputation, because the alien backpedals with almost cartoonish haste. She concentrates on decking or on the back of the head of the on ahead and to the right of her. It's easier -- there are too many sights and sounds in the crowded halls. She lets Lir lead her, tries to remember how many turns to the left and right, but she swears he's leading her in circles.

They finally get to the portal to a ship. Lir speaks a few guttural words to the cat-man security team, who obediently peel off and go somewhere else. She doesn't look too hard for fear of another shock from the collar.

Lir passes a tentacle over a panel by the portal. It opens. Gathering her courage, she steps inside.

It's actually pretty nice. Not the phallic, smooth-hulled type she'd expect. Slightly boxy. Room for only a few passengers. Lots of windows. Looks safe and stout. (She's being kidnapped by a Sushi in a 38th century Volvo.)

He indicates her seat. She sits, heart beating and nervous. "Dancing," she says. "Do you like to dance?"

"Yes," he says, settling a whole lot of appendages into a cradling chair like an oversized egg-cup. "Though not while I'm flying." He gives her a sidelong look. "You may, though, once we've undocked and our course is set."

She clings to the hope that undocking will be a long and elaborate process. Looks around frantically. No obvious big red button that she might hit to disable the ship and run for it. The plugs really are disturbingly comfortable. She could probably shift like a sprinter, even with them in. However, a few clunks and snaps outside and the futuristic "saloon car" is free. Lir pilots it with too many appendages in too many places for her to have any hope of driving the thing, even if she could commandeer it.

The star they'd been at disappears from view. And she is NOT going to cry. She's not dead yet, she's still got all her parts, and the Doctor is coming for her. Any minute now.

The alien captain flicks on music. It's weird, the singer sounds like the shrieking of a rat being ritually strangled, but it has a decent beat. "Open your mouth," he says.

This does not bode well, but the alternatives are worse, so she obeys.

He sets a small round thing on her tongue. Sweet. Gritty. It dissolves instantly. A heady rush, like liquid happiness flowing over her. Stronger than the Ecstasy she took with Jeff. And just like that drug, it makes her want to move.

"Again," he says.

Giggling stupidly, she tries and fails to say no.

Tentacle-click. Pain, though it makes her laugh rather than cry. Another tentacle click.

"Kneel."

She obeys, still trying not to snicker. (Whatever this stuff is, it's fantastic.)

"Open your mouth."

She obeys.

He sets another little pill or something on her tongue. This one's sharper. Spicier.

"Keep your mouth open," says Lir. "Let it breathe and wait for it to dissolve."

She obeys. It's a slower high. Hard to keep her mouth open for so long, but the drug just lets her relax. She feels giggly and mellow, which she freely owns is not very useful when one is planning an escape.

"Close your mouth," he says. "And swallow."

The music no longer sounds shrill and annoying, but exotic. She can feel it, raining on her skin. Sliding over her. Sexy. She sways to it. Closes her eyes so it can touch her.

"Beautiful," Lir says. "Dance for me, and I will be kind."

She stands. Represses another giggle at the thought of being ogled by a sentient octopus. Her master. Right. The music moves her body for her. She begins to move in time to the music. Isolates arms. Belly. Hips. It feels so good, a comfortable old habit. This was one of the services she was called out for on a regular basis.

"This used to cost extra," she says, which is actually true. She's slurring, though. That should bother her, though she's struggling to remember why.

"Well worth it," says the alien. (Don't look, don't look, don't look.)

This time, when the tentacle touches her leg, she forgets why she should cringe. It's so cool! Smooth. Unusual. Weird textures that keep moving in the most hypnotic patterns. She just wants to touch it more. She brushes it up her body, swaying with the music. Wraps it around her. A second one is waving. Like a snake. A pretty boa. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. She can't stop watching. She reaches out. Catches that one too. Straddles it. Her quim's gone all hot. She needs to rub against something. She grinds onto her living boa. If Lir weren't completely repulsive, she'd fuck him willingly. Could use something inside her to finish what the Doctor and Naet started.

"Amy." But that's not the Doctor's voice. Why isn't it the Doctor's voice? Shouldn't he be here by now? He's always late.

Lir's mostly pale green and red now. Slowly pulsing stripes that work their way out from the central part of his body. Pretty, for an alien. Kind of fun to watch. Pale green is horny, she thinks. Not sure what red means. Maybe hot and bothered. Most of his "hands" are still on the controls, but a few are reaching for her. They wave before her. She touches them. They feel so good beneath her fingertips. Weird, but good.

Curious, she brings the tip of one of his arms up to her mouth. Touches it to her tongue. Lir shudders beautifully. He tastes slightly salty. Like the ocean. She draws him deeper into her mouth. He feels incredible on her tongue -- pulsing and textured and ALIVE.

A low rumbling that she guesses is a moan.

Giggling, she releases the tip. Shoulder-shimmies to jingle the chains on her chest.

He watches her in rapt fascination. (Pull away. She should pull away, though she can't think…) She turns away so she can do a nice hip-shimmy that she knows shows off her arse. Yes. This is arse-shaking music. Feels so good. The music is on her and in her and and through her. It's turning her on like nothing else. The plug in her quim's rubbing her nicely too. She bears down on it, like the Doctor taught her when he used toys on her. Tighten. Relax. Tighten. Relax. If she can just keep this up, maybe she can finish what the Doctor and Naet started.

Lir's watching her, his whole body turned to face her.

She continues dancing, though she can't think of anything clever to say. Clever's dissolved, along with that spicy little pill he gave her. Eventually, her brain assembles a few words. "How long till we get there?" she flirts.

Lir glances at the display. The lust-stripes move a little faster along his skin. "Long enough."

How he gets that many tentacles around her that quickly, she's not sure. The drugs are sweet poison in her veins. She wants to panic, but can't seem to. And he's not rough, just… inevitable. "Captain. Lir," she slurs. "What are you…? I mean I've never… "

"But you will," he says, pulling her closer.

"I've only shagged humans," she blurts.

"Your former master used you many times a day." Lir is a bit breathless.

"But he was…" Well, he wasn't exactly human, was he? "More like me."

Lir pauses, considering. "So I am the first of my kind to use you?" Amy nods, then shakes her head. Lir flushes nearly pink. "The first of ANY kind?" He chuckles, a surprisingly warm sound from such a rough voice. "Then you are truly worth your price." He draws her a little closer. "Have no fear, Amy. I will be kind."

More caresses. She can hardly move. Tentacles. She's covered in tentacles. Not hands at all. The drug can't drown the panic. No. No panic. She has to stay calm. How else is she going to get through this?

She focuses on one of the limbs that's touching her. The skin… It's actually really pretty. Weird as fuck, but beautiful in its own way. Hypnotic stripes of red and pale green. Rough and smooth. Like someone with gloves on. Gloves. Hands in gloves. That's good. That's sexy. Someone with gloves is touching her. "Please…"

"Please, what?" His touch is gentle. Seeking. As if he can't believe his good fortune. It's weirdly complimentary. And calming. She gets herself under control. Closes her eyes to focus her mind. She can do this.

"I don't want you to…" She can't find the rest of the words through the haze of panic and drug (aphrodisiac?). "Please, Captain Lir. Please don't."

He draws her up to her full height. Strokes her face and throat. The chains over her chest jingle slightly as he reaches through them to stroke her tits. She fends off each tentacle. He catches her wrists. Holds her immobile, hands in the air. Waits patiently until she stops struggling.

She keeps her eyes firmly anywhere but on him.

"Look at me," he says.

She squeezes her eyes tighter shut.

Tentacle-click. The collar lights up. Pain, intense, but not as incapacitating as the first shock back on Naos. "Look at me, Amy" he says firmly. "Or I will be cruel."

She looks.

She has no idea how many appendages the thing in front of her actually has. And the patterns of colours and textures are making it hard to think clearly. Green-red-green-green-red. Deep eyes. Watery and strange and really not human.

"I am your master," he says. "And you will serve me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain Lir." The words feel like they're coming from everywhere but her mouth.

He caresses her face. Throat. Breasts. Everywhere at once. She lets herself relax. The music seeps back into her body. The drugs soothe her. Okay, this isn't so bad. The plugs are still a warm hardness inside her. When she can think straight, she'll talk to him… Maybe… Reason…? It's really not bad at all until he presses her wrists back into the cuffs. Buckles them firmly shut.

The tears bubble up. "Please." She swallows hard. "Please, Captain. Please."

"I will be kind," he soothes. Gentle but firm strokes over her arms. Around and between her breasts. Teasing at her nipples. Running up the insides of her thighs. (And god DAMN the Doctor, because she's become so used to that being foreplay that she reacts in spite of herself.)

Lir draws her toward what is unmistakably some kind of sleeping platform. She resists.

"Amy," he says quietly. "Kind or cruel?"

"Kind," she says. "Please, Captain."

"Lay down on the bed," he says.

She obeys. Wishes she were anywhere but here. The drugs are making her feel a little sick.

"Part your knees," he says.

"If you make me do this, he'll kill you." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

A sharp slap across her cheek. And even sharper one across the other. Tentacle-click. Pain. "Your former master is not here," he says coldly. "I am. Do you wish me to be kind or cruel?"

"Kind." Her cheeks burn where he struck her. "Please, Captain."

Tentacle-click. He turns off the pain. She parts her knees. Her pride won't let her whimper.

Smooth tentacle tips. Gentle. Seeking. Teasing her clit. Parting her labia. Sliding in and along her slit. He moves the plug gently in her quim. In. Out. Slow little movements. She doesn't want this to feel good. (Where the FUCK is the Doctor?) Super-fine tentacle tips tease under her clitoral hood. Stroke her. She's still a little wet inside from this morning's shag with the Doctor (and the half-finished one with Naet). The combination of strokes to clit and plug is honestly rubbing her the right way. She gasps. Pants. He strokes her with the plug. It seems to heat. Resonate a little. And it's striking just the right spot… she could… she's going to…

"Oh… oh… I'm… I can't…" Her voice breaks slightly.

"You may come," he says graciously.

She comes, shuddering. "Thank you… Captain… Lir."

"That's better," he says. "This is your first time. You do not have to wait for my permission to come."

"Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain." And she both loves and hates the Doctor for having played these kinds of games with her so she knows what to say.

He draws the plug out. Her breath hitches as she damn near comes again. He slips the first appendage (don't think "tentacle") inside. Curls up. Rubs. Oh yes, please, right there. (It's really not fair that aliens have been far better in bed than the two humans she's been with.) If she doesn't think about who is doing this, it's bloody brilliant. Almost as good as what the Doctor does to her. Two tentacles inside. Three. Four. Regular fistings by the Doctor actually come in handy here, as she's quick to stretch. And she learned from her Time Lord lover not to fight. Not to panic. Just relax and take what he gives her. Trust him.

She spreads her knees wider. Breathes out deeply. Forces her internal muscles to unknot. Trust. Don't fight.

"Good," he says. "You will be ready for me soon. I will release you, and you will let me fuck you."

"Yes!" Then, she realizes what she just said. "No! Wait! I can't!"

Tentacle-click. Pain. Three sharp slaps across her cheeks. Tentacle-click. She gasps for breath. He's still moving inside her. "I will release your hands," he says, more firmly this time. "And you will let me fuck you."

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. "Yes, Captain Lir."

He undoes the wrist cuffs. She reaches out to push him or touch him -- she's not sure which. His appendages move faster inside her. Speed her. No. No, that's not right. That's not fair. He's not allowed to… It's not supposed to…

A low, watery chuckle. "You were perfectly made to be used this way."

She comes, sobbing and cursing, in his arms.

Tentacles wrap around her wrists. Wrap around her body. Turn her over. She kneels up. He clips a chain to the ring in her collar. Presses her hands to the metal headboard. And inside, his (fingers, say fingers) work brilliantly. Slide past each other. She clings to the headboard. Pants. Moans. It's even better than the Doctor's hand. Almost as good as his cock.

"Look down," says a rough voice in her ear.

She looks down. Cries out in sudden horror at the sight of all the tentacles moving in and out of her body.

"What did you expect?" murmurs the rough voice. The fucker sounds amused.

"I just…" she founders against a surge of nausea. "I never… Please, don't make me watch."

He is silent for a moment, working inside her. She concentrates on the vile bliss that is the friction inside her cunt so she won't have to think about him. "If I could… I mean… Not look?"

"I will be kind." Lir covers her eyes.

She sobs again, this time in relief. It's so much easier to concentrate without the visuals. One slender tentacle wraps around her throat. The ones inside her speed. Rougher now. She's coming harder. Harder still. Wrong. This is so wrong. She was only kidding about making the Doctor jealous. That was just a game with a pretty human boy. She never intended this.

He slips (fingers! They're fingers!) into her mouth. That helps, because now she has something else to focus on. He's slightly salty. Something like the Doctor's come, only without the tingling. Lir strokes her tongue. And if she ignores the shifting textures, she can imagine it's the Doctor. She closes her lips. Sucks, like she would if the Doctor had his cock buried to the balls. He taught her how to deep-throat. She can do that again. She will survive this.

Lir makes a noise of pleasure. The slender (hand! It's a hand) at her throat tightens, rippling with textures. Smooth. Rough. Prickly. Nubbly. She sucks down harder. Times her breaths. Just like with the Doctor. He made her love to have his cock in her mouth. Between her legs. Anywhere she could. She will not let this break her. She will get free and get back to the man who loves her.

Lir's got half a dozen things inside her. It's impossible. Incredible. She comes again. Gushes on him. The mouthful muffles her curses.

He laughs. Envelops her whole body. Spreads her legs a little wider. Withdraws every appendage he had inside her. Her cunt, freshly-fucked and soaking, pulses, aching for more. Empty now and longing to be filled.

He withdraws from her mouth too. Panting, she tries to recover her breath.

"Beg for my cock," he says.

She shudders. No. Can't do it. She's going to have to, but she can't…

Tentacle-click. Pain. Pouring over her skin in a flood of sensation. She whimpers. Tentacle-click. She forces herself to remain upright.

"Beg for my cock." She tries to hear it in the Doctor's voice. He's got such a gorgeous voice when he's topping her -- sweet and polite one minute, fierce and demanding the next.

"I…" She can't let him fuck her. She just can't.

Tentacle-click. More pain. She grits her teeth and endures. Tentacle-click. She stares at the wall, furious and frustrated and determined not to break.

He huffs annoyance. "I'm ready to fuck you until I come. Beg me to do it or I will cease being kind."

"No," she says.

A sharp swat to her cunt. God DAMN him. It's like he knows what triggers her. The Doctor's applied the switch to her many times before. Once, he even fucked her with the handle of it before he took her for real. (She shivers with lust at the thought of it.)

"Beg me," he says again.

"I won't."

Two sharp swats. She shivers in traitorous pleasure at the twin shocks to wet and sensitized flesh.

"Beg," he commands. (The Doctor's voice. Hear it in the Doctor's sweet voice.)

"Please." There. She at least got the word out.

Three sharp swats. (Like the Doctor's favourite crop. God, she came to love that thing.)

"Please f-f-fuck me," she says, and this time, she's starting to mean it.

Four sharp swats. (Nothing so hot as the Doctor, fucking hard against her switch-reddened arse.)

"Please, Captain Lir," she whispers. "Please fuck me. I want your cock in me."

Five sharp swats to her cunt. Five more across her arse. She squirms in his grip. His tentacles circle her breasts. Knead. Tease her nipples.

"Please, Captain," she gasps. "Lir, please. I need your cock in me. I'm begging you to fuck me. Fuck me hard until you come." If only she could force herself to relax.

"You fear it, don't you?" he says.

"Yes." She's painfully aroused and confused and empty. And her throbbing traitor of a cunt, which of course only remembers how good he felt inside her, aches to be filled.

"But you want it too," he says. "And I would like to be kind, if you'll let me."

"Yes," she murmurs. "Yes, please."

Wet hardness slams home. She gasps at the feel of it. Finds Lir's name on her tongue. He drives deep. Fills her completely with what feels like row after row of flanges. Smooth. Textured. They beat in time to the stripes of colour. He's flexible and firm and no, no, no it's not supposed to feel…

She cries out, adrenaline thrilling with the drug in her veins. So good. So fucking good!

He fills her mouth again. Helpless, she sucks at him. Draws him in. Comes on him, a wild spike of pleasure. This is happening. Really happening. She should struggle. She should fight. She wants to. She will. She will when he stops… She doesn't want him to stop. He's so hot. So different than the Doctor's cold fire. Burning flanges move within her at every stroke. Make her shudder.

Tips brush at the plug in her arse. She stiffens. Fights. (No, no, no. You don't get to take that too.) He overpowers her easily. Muffles her protests. Begins to move the plug in and out. Gently at first. Then faster. Rougher, to match the strange cock that's burning in her quim.

She comes hard. Sobs around her mouthful. He removes the plug, slowly and torturously. Threads tips inside. Stretches her. Strokes her. Impossible. No. Not again. She refuses…

She comes like a wild thing.

And still he's not done with her. He builds her again. Higher. Higher. When she's just on the edge of orgasm, he pulls out, cock from her quim, "fingers" from her mouth and arse.

She whimpers in need.

"Beg," he says again. "From now on, you must beg for my permission."

She does. Pleads. Sobs. Begs him by name. Begs and begs and begs.

He slides hard into her arse. A spike so intense she can't tell if it's pain or pleasure. She's beyond caring. He's fucking her -- that's all that matters. The chains at her chest chime in rhythm with his strokes. She curses, pleads, calls his name, screams and howls. Begs him to stop. Begs him not to stop.

Tentacle-click. The shock of the collar just makes her come harder. Pain and pleasure blur, sensitizing every inch of her skin. Tentacle-click.

She's amazed her fingers didn't leave grooves in the headboard.

He fucks her harder and harder. Deeper and deeper. Forces himself in. Forces her wide. And just when she thinks he's going to rip her in half, he shudders against her. Gushes inside her. Fills her abused arse with hot slime.

It's so good she thinks she's going to die.

He withdraws. Slides the plugs back in. One in her cunt. One in her arse. He closes her legs. Buckles her wrists back into their cuffs. Leaves her huddled against the headboard, sobbing and exhausted and defiled and utterly undone. She shivers even as he goes off to what appears to be a sink. Bathes, a brief hypnotic dance of tentacles. Settles back into his chair, pulsing orange with what is unmistakably self-satisfaction. Meanwhile, she's still breathless and covered in God knows what. She can still feel him on her. Inside her. Oh god, _inside_ her.

"Exquisite," he says, "hands" back on the controls. "Worth every credit of your price."

"He'll kill you," she says.

The monster chuckles. "It's hardly my fault he can't afford you."

"He's going…" Dammit, she's dissolving into tears. "To kill you." She fights as long as she can, but eventually the sobs overpower her. She folds in on herself.

He says nothing, manning the controls and pointedly ignoring her. It's a relief actually. She's not big on coming unglued in front of people, no matter what they do to her. Besides, this is all some sick dream anyway. It never happened. She'll wake up soon, safe in the TARDIS. Her Doctor, half-asleep and annoyed, will tell her to go back to sleep. Maybe he'll even wrap his arms around her. Soothe her. Tell her it'll be all right.

"Your master was demanding," says the Captain. "I will be less so. Tell me, how often did he use you?"

It's just a dream. She can talk to a nightmare -- he's not even real. "Four," she manages. "Sometimes five times a day, depending."

Lir nods. "I will only use you twice. In the mornings, I will be cruel. I will overpower you. You will fight. You will bite. You will hurt me if you can."

"Yes," she says with feeling. "Captain Lir."

"You will feel rage and the rush of the attack," he says. "It will heighten the sensations. I will use the collar on you if I must. As with tonight, pain will become pleasure."

She'll be buggered if she allows him to do any such thing, but she says, "Yes, Captain Lir."

"Then, I will hold you down and fuck you until I'm satisfied," he says.

Damn it. She hates him for the twinge of desire that sparks. She should not want him. She does not want him. He's sick and evil and perverted (and amazing in bed) and she fucking HATES him with every fibre of her being.

"If you are good," he says, "And I know pleasure, I will return the favour. If you misbehave, I will punish you until I am satisfied. Do you understand?"

Her heart's beating so fast she can hardly think. Eyes. She's going to claw out his eyes. There has to be something like a brain behind them if she sinks her fingers in far enough. "Yes, Captain Lir."

"In the evenings," he continues, "I will be kind. Intoxicants like the ones you used tonight will be waiting for you, if you wish. You will be unbound. You will go to the bed. You will clip your collar to the headboard. You will place your hands on the headboard. You will part your knees. And you will beg me to fuck you."

She does NOT want him. Her goddamn cunt needs to shut the hell up, because this is getting seriously fucked-up. Her mind's a blur, but she manages to say, "Yes, Captain Lir." Though what she really means is "Your days are numbered."

He's pulsing orange with satisfaction. "If I am satisfied by the urgency of your pleas, you will know as much pleasure as I can wring from you. Tonight was just an appetiser to whet your desire and mine."

She wishes that sounded a whole lot worse than it does. In some ways, this would be a fuck of a lot less confusing if he weren't so very, very alien. "Yes, Captain Lir."

"Tonight," he says again, "You were worth your price."

She's sweaty and sticky and slightly sore in strange places, though the come in her arse is actually kind of soothing. It'd be a weirder thought if the Doctor's come didn't also have healing properties. "What do you want of me now, Captain?" Please let him say he wants her to bathe.

"You will remain where you are," he says. "Until we land on my homeworld. You will follow me to my home. Once there, you will learn your place. You will bathe when I permit it. You will eat when I give permission. You will only wear the uniform of your profession. If I command it, you will place your wrists in the manacles and be bound. You will service me in whatever manner I command and do it with the obedience and courtesy that are appropriate for a slave. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain Lir." She understands that someone's gonna kill him.

"Good," he says. "Now be silent until we land."

Fortunately, silence suits her mood. If she's honest, she's hopelessly confused. She came harder than she'd imagined possible, but now he expects her to submit to… No. This is just not on.

Too much movement attracts the alien's attention. "Lie down and be quiet," he says. "I will not warn you again."

Fighting sobs again, she obeys. She's starting to see why the Doctor kept warning her not to wander off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written for the "bondage" kink_bingo prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con. Non-con. Slavery. BDSM. Alien!sex. Anal and vaginal plugs. Shock collars. Evil. And more evil. Oh, and lots of naughty words, some of them profanity. Everything AND the kitchen sink. Camera does NOT pan up… like… ever. (because the Doctor's too busy watching it and wanking like a.. well, you'll see.)
> 
> The Sulamid alien is still borrowed and revamped from Ceefax the Sane.
> 
> Beta'ed with three felines' 'assistance' by ophymirage.

The Doctor is annoyed. It's no fault of Lir's really -- the Sulamid's good as his (carefully contracted) word, sending up that absolutely scorching vid of him and Amy. About two hours of her panicking, screaming, then slowly being talked into all kinds of deliciously dirty feats. (A few of which he'll have to file away for future reference. Nice to see what a genuine sadistic top can do with a little determination, a couple of plugs, and a half-decent obedience collar. The whole chaining-her-to-the-headboard kink? Genius.)

No, he has to give the captain full points for kink and for stamina. But while the Doctor spends the better part of the day watching his Companion and wanking like a deranged monkey, gradually the whole arrangement starts to bother him.

It's not the abasement -- he's tied up and switched Amy enough times to love a little "Please Doctor may I" as much as the next man. No. Let Lir fuck the girl within an inch of her sanity. But that's the problem -- Lir really will. And is. And handily too. It's enough to make a man have a pang or two of jealousy (if the Doctor were the sort to admit to jealousy), because though he's fucked her up the arse plenty of times, she's never BEGGED him for it.

Come to think of it, she's not big on begging him full stop, which is even more annoying. She SHOULD beg him -- he's a damn good lay, if he does say so himself, and certainly better than anything she's had in her previous memories, which is what happens when you've been around the block a time or nine hundred. She certainly came like a demon when he used his full arsenal of kinky tricks. So it can't be that there's any risk of her actually LIKING Lir. That's just not possible. And it's a good thing it's not possible, because her liking Lir would really put a crimp in the Doctor's plans.

The whole point of this little object lesson was to teach her not to wander off. If she wanders off into her deepest darkest dirtiest fantasies of sexual fulfilment at the hands of some weird alien, this whole thing could backfire. And if Lir starts to fall for her in return, credits alone may not be enough to buy his silence.

The Doctor scoops up another handful of popcorn from the bowl on the console of the TARDIS, watching grimly for the fourth time as Amy screams Lir's name while he fucks her into incoherence. No. This could be a bad thing. If he knows Amy, she'll fight the Sulamid at first -- part of her charm is there's a sweet mix of fight with her fuck. (The Doctor has always had a taste for the feisty ones.) But Amy's also got that pesky masochistic streak. It's well brilliant when he's the one doing the fucking, but what if Lir proves to be the more satisfying sadist?

He really should've planned out his strategy better. Done some kind of screening process to make sure he had the perfect combination of "squick" and "just good enough in bed". Instead, he seems to have found himself a tentacled Don Juan.

So what does he do now? It's far too soon to come to Amy's rescue. Firstly, he promised Lir rights to Amy for about a week, though that alone wouldn't be enough to deter him if it becomes really necessary to stop this. Secondly, and more important, Amy still believes he's coming to save her, which means she won't fully submit to her enslavement. Lir has to break her a little. Make her obedient. Then she'll be gratifyingly happy to see the Doctor when he comes for her.

The key here is to time it just right so that she'll fall into his arms, kissing him in grateful relief and -- here's the payoff -- promising never to disobey him again. Too soon, and she'll nag him endlessly about "leaving her to be sold". Too late, and she'll lose that feisty spark that makes him just want to bend her over the nearest surface and shag her till she squeaks.

Popcorn tastes bitter now. He really has to do something about this new mouth -- it's driving him crazy to have all his favourite foods taste so weird. The rest of this body is quite acceptable, but the taste buds? Fucking Regeneration always cocks up something.

And speaking of cocks…

Good to know that the fit on the port in the console is just as snug and satisfying as ever, though the studs along the interior are a nice addition. (TARDIS always was a kinky old bird.) She can't add to the bliss with a bit of an impromptu dip into the Time Vortex, but even stationary she's a lovely shag.

He times his orgasm just right -- just when Lir fills Amy's arse, the Doctor comes in an explosion of temporal energy.

Nothing like a decent fuck to make a man feel better. He gives the console a loving pat, sets himself to rights, snatches up his jacket, and makes for the door. He's got at least half a week to kill before he picks up his lovely ginger fucktoy. Might as well go see what the Bouncers are doing.

One of the nice things about being a Time Lord: stealing credits is ridiculously easy, and he's always gone before anyone can track him down.

It's simply... FANTASTIC… to be the superior being.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Check it again." His partner's in a foul mood.

"Why?" But he's already consulting his wrist strap.

"Because those readings are fucking impossible." Pretty grey eyes turn cold. "Nothing emits that kind of energy -- not at those kind of levels and not in this century. You'd have to have a line to the Vortex, open constantly, at levels that would kill a normal person."

"So what is he?"

The man beside him grins. "AWOL, just like us. Not from around here, not authorized to be around here, and therefore…"

"Useful." He shares the grin, thinking of the warm welcome they'll get at Central if they bring in a temporal criminal. This will make the perfect cover; once they return, Central can rewrite their assignment to make this their mission. Causality never bothered them much, and he'll worry about the memory-paradox some other time. "So how do we get to him, now that the girl's gone with the Sulamid?"

His partner calls up the surveillance feed as a hologram on his VM. Scans forward through it until he finds an image of the geeky-but-shaggable hottie in the tweed jacket. Said hottie is locking the front door of what appears to be an early twentieth-century blue box. Police. Weird. Looks like it may be contemporaneous to Earth, somewhere right around the Second World War, which is brilliant, because that's one of their favourite times.

"Bow tie," his partner comments.

He's already there and sending postcards. "Could he be any more adorable?"

He and his partner exchange a lascivious look.

"Whatever that thing is--" Oooh, that twinkle means they're going to be up to something fun. "We have to have it."

They begin to wend their way toward the impromptu pub that's been set up in a "borrowed" transport cruiser, which happened to be carrying several thousand cases of very lovely Andorian ale. "Just doing our job?" he says.

"We would be otherwise neglecting our sworn oath," says his partner with equal sarcasm.

There are times he loves being a Time Agent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Amy jerks awake. Docking. The ship's docking. Or landing. Or something. She blinks, bleary-eyed, and tries to figure out how long she's been out. Her neck's slightly cricked from sleeping in an awkward jumble, but otherwise she's actually not much the worse for wear. She sniffs herself surreptitiously -- whew! she's minging something awful. Here's hoping for a bath.

The ship lands on the roof of a villa. She wouldn't have figured octopus-people (or whatever Lir is) for Art Deco, but the neat lines and geometric shapes of the main house and its out-buildings seem like they'd be more at home with Jazz and flapper dresses than plugs and shock-collars.

She forces herself to be calm as Lir draws close. He unfastens her collar from the chain on the headboard. Clips on a lead. She follows him. As they step out of the ship, she blinks at the sudden burst of humidity. Hot. Muggy -- so muggy it's almost hard to breathe. The roof is covered in fine sand, which actually feels good on her bare feet. And her lack of clothing is actually not uncomfortable in this climate. She might even enjoy exploring this new world if she weren't starving and in desperate need of a shower.

Oh yeah, and a kinky-sex slave. That does kind of put a damper on the outing. She seriously has to get the fuck out of here, and fast. (And WHERE is the damn DOCTOR? She is going to curse him till his ears bleed once he gets here.)

She takes a quick look 'round, though, before they get off the roof. Villa. Definitely a palatial villa. Square roof. Square servant's quarters. (At least, judging by the few cat-man-aliens that are coming and going.) All on an estate that seems to stretch for miles in the few directions she can peer at. Isolated. Landscaped in endless, nodding tree-things in shades of purple and chartreuse and mauve. Things are calling like songbirds, though she's afraid to look for fear that the first sight of a "song-squid" might snap what remains of her sanity. The whole place is like the bottom of an exotic aquarium.

Lir leads her through a neat doorway and down a slanting passage to the house below.

Whoever this guy is, he's loaded. A small herd of the cat-man aliens meets them in a large hallway. Lir speaks to them in that weird guttural language, which is damned annoying because Amy can't make out a word. She's become so accustomed to the TARDIS translating everything that it's disorienting to be back to wishing someone around here spoke some English.

Once Lir is done briefing the servants, the black notch-eared one -- who seems to be in charge of the group -- takes Amy's lead from Lir and escorts her quickly and efficiently down the hall to what appears to be some kind of kitchen. She nearly faints with relief when she smells cooked food. Thank God she's not actually on the Planet of Sushi. (Of course not -- how rude would it be to eat one's cousins?) The neat angles and geometric mosaics seem so incongruous for a species that's all curves and boneless bodies, but she supposes that some people are attracted to the opposite of what they are. Anyway, there's a low, central table, like she'd expect in a Japanese restaurant. The cat-men-things set down cushions. Notch-Ear demonstrates kneeling. Indicates that she should occupy the one next to him. (Him? Her? Who can tell?)

She kneels on the cushion. A cat-man drapes a cloth around her neck to cover the chains. She jerks her head at her hands. "Don't suppose you could help a girl out?"

She can't tell if Notch-Ear responds to the verbal or non-verbal cues, but he silently shakes his head no. Another, smaller ginger cat-man (woman?) settles in on the other side. Notch-Ear feeds her bits of some sort of delicious, roasted meat. It tastes so good she could cry. The ginger cat feeds her weird-coloured lumpy slices that taste like pears if she imagines really hard. A third cat-man (grey striped) stands just behind her shoulder and offers her occasional sips of a cool blue drink like an excellent new flavour of Lucozade. Refreshing and perfect and not too sweet. The balance of flavours and textures is fantastic, made all the more appetizing by hunger and thirst.

She's careful not to bite any fingers as they feed her, which only seems to amuse Notch-Ear and his friends. And she's glad of the cloth covering her chest, because it's very hard to drink without one's hands, no matter how careful and attentive the grey-striped cat is.

Once she's eaten her fill, the cat-men strip the cloth from her throat and the plates from the table, efficiently returning it to clean austerity. Notch Ear snaps a lead to her collar. Urges her to her feet. She follows, trying not to cross her legs as she walks, because she really needs to pee. "Please tell me we're going to the loo next."

Notch-Ear ignores her.

He leads her down another hall, Ginger and Grey-Stripes in tow, to what appears to be a dressing room. This seems weird, as she's the only biped here who's clothed. Notch-Ear unstraps her wrist-cuffs. The other two take off her skirt and chains. A blush burns her cheeks, but she bears up as best she can at being starkers in mixed alien company.

Notch-Ear leads her through the rather embarrassing process of learning an alien toilet -- which is as much bidet as anything. Not sure what else to do with the anal plug, she sets it aside.

Efficient as always, Ginger picks up the plug. Notch-Ear cries a warning, but too late. Poor Ginger is badly singed, the fur on and around her hands scorched. Notch-Ear cuffs her for what must be stupidity. Ears still laid back in annoyance, he indicates that Amy should retrieve the plug herself.

She does. "He shouldn't do this to me, you know. I'm not a slave. Do you understand?"

Notch-Ear brushes his jaw along Ginger's jaw, a soothing and reassuring gesture. Mewling softly in pain, Ginger bows and retreats, probably to go have her hands mended.

"Slave?" Amy says. "You understand 'slave'? See, I was taken against my will. Stripped and sold to this crazy place. I don't belong here."

Notch-Ear barks a command. Grey-Stripes buggers off.

"Please," Amy says, hoping against hope that this means he'll finally talk to her. "I need to get back to the TARDIS. It's my ship, see? Or rather, it's actually the Doctor's ship, but I travel with him. I'm with him. I don't belong here."

Notch-Ear grabs her lead firmly. She digs in her heels. He unsheathes claws. Pulls her down to meet his eyes. Talks in a low and no-nonsense voice. Points to the plug, which sits forgotten beside her. Though she can't understand the words, she knows that he's not going to take her anywhere until the plug is back in.

Resettling it is just one more embarrassment on the day, and honestly, it's nowhere near the worst that she's suffered lately. (Though now she REALLY wants a bath.)

Notch-Ear leads her to a large atrium. Strange flowering plants cover the walls and drip from garden terraces. In the centre of the room is a huge, steaming pool of what smells like salt water. Notch-Ear unclips her lead. The square pool with its elaborate geometric mosaics along the edges is not exactly what she had in mind for a bath, but it's a damn sight better than nothing. Maybe she can even have a bit of a swim and get the stiffness out of her limbs.

Notch-Ear hands her down into the water, then settles in on his haunches, hackles bristling slightly as his eyes brighten into what appears to be protective vigilance.

The sandy bottom of the pool is a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. She dives under the water. Scrubs herself clean with a handful of soft sand. The bath is vaguely saline, but not horribly so. Probably just enough to kill off whatever microbial life she inherited from her master. And if it is saline, why doesn't it sting? It really should -- Lir used her pretty roughly and thoroughly and she is NOT thinking about that. This whole thing is a dream anyway.

Her ears prick up at the muffled splash of someone else getting into the water. She turns, startled at the sudden proximity of her "master".

Lir surfaces. Stands. She's having trouble figuring out just how tall he actually is -- it seems to vary with his mood. Water sheets off his skin, which has gone orangey-red. (What emotion does that mean again? Damned if she can remember.) She has to drive her heels into the sandy floor of the pool to stop herself from shrinking away. He's just a dream. She's not afraid of him. Any minute now she'll wake up, and then Doctor, TARDIS, reassurance, real life.

Lir touches her gently. Brushes her arms. She closes her eyes and swallows hard as he touches her face. Teases lightly at her breasts. Drifts a touch across her belly. Draws her a little closer, turning her to face away from him.

That helps, actually. He reaches down, just as clinical as when he first slipped the plugs into her. Removes each gently.

"Hold these."

Even quiet, the authority in his voice is hard to resist. On Naos, his voice was hoarse and gravelly. It's warm and mellow now, as if he'd just needed water to speak properly. She obeys the command, scrubbing the plugs absently as she tries very hard not to think about what's going to happen next.

He presses her to him briefly, her back against all those ropes of smooth muscle. Trails a touch across her throat. He could strangle her if he wanted. Maybe even rip her in half. The danger should not be (is not. It's really not.) this erotic.

Tomorrow, he wants her to fight him.

He's caressing her between her legs. Running sensitive touches along her labia. She holds her breath, not sure how to react.

"Amy." The voice is very near her ear. With a start, she realizes she has no idea what his mouth looks like. Teeth? Beak like an octopus? Some sort of lips? It bothers her more than she should. How could she not have noticed his mouth?

And no matter what he might think, she is NOT leaning back into his arms. She's just waiting for him to be done touching her.

He takes the first plug. Settles it gently but firmly back into her quim. She gasps at the sensation. He slides the second back into her arse. She's still a little stretched from where he… Anyway, it's not a problem to accept that one either. Just a dream. Just a really weird fucking dream.

"Good," he murmurs, and is gone as quickly as he came.

She can hear the sudden rush of water as he exits the pool. Imagines it sheeting off him. She's not sure if she should shudder, shiver, or what she should feel.

And she only turns once she's reasonably sure he's gone.

Shaken again, she gets out of the pool. Notch-Ear is waiting. Grey-Stripes hands her a towel of sorts -- sort of a weird absorbent cloth that sucks the water neatly from her skin and hair, which must be a fright. Notch-Ear hooks a clawed finger in the ring on her collar. Pulls her down to kneeling. The other cat-men come in, a whole herd of them, this time with what are unmistakably beauty supplies. They sit her down. Brush out her hair and condition it with something that smells vaguely like… seaweed maybe. Others shave her armpits and legs. Smear strange stuff along her upper lip and eyebrows. (Some kind of depilatory?) Next is smooth, delicious lotion, spread from head to toe as pairs of cat-men finish a manicure and pedicure. There's so many of them it's impossible to fight, and is a little like Body By Feline Ewok.

At least they're not using their tongues.

She doesn't bother to repress the (slightly hysterical) laughter. Fortunately, they ignore her, each intent on his or her task.

Once they're done and she's beautiful again (what a girl wouldn't give for a mirror), Notch-Ear urges her to her feet. Fastens a fresh skirt around her hips. It's a stupid little thing that sits low on her hips and barely covers her arse, but she feels better for having SOME clothing on at least. She bends a little to allow him to fasten a new chain-collar around her neck. Yeah, it leaves a lot to be desired in the clothing department, but semi-clothed breasts are still better than naked. And she will admit to feeling much more human thanks to the Kitty Day Spa.

Notch-Ear clips the lead onto her collar. Escorts her to a comfortable room that's all angles and straight lines and geometric mosaics. Completely not what she expected -- not that she's sure what she expected. Okay. Inventory time. One egg-cup chair. A neat table that's all cool angles and geometric patterns. A mosaic of mirrored pieces that amplify the light without making her feel like she's on the set of a porn film. Not much in the way of lamps that could be turned into clubs or convenient chains that could throttle octopus-alien-guys-who-aren't-real-anyway-but-why-take-chances?

Speaking of octopoidal aliens, Lir is waiting by the bed. Tentacles drape around him like a living cloak, changing colours in a subtle shift of hues. If she knew them all (no, she's not going to be here long enough for that) she'd be able to read his every mood. He speaks lowly to Notch-Ear, who brings her over.

Lir buckles a new belt around her waist. She doesn't fight him as he straps her wrists into fresh cuffs because he's just a dream anyway and so everything is fine. Just fine. So let this be erotic in a kind of weird, sick, twisted, anime fashion. That's fine. He leads her to a very soft-looking bed that appears to be a collection of four softer-padded versions of the egg-cup chair Lir had on the ship.

He helps her balance as she settles into one. It's oddly supportive. For a weird moment, she feels like a guest.

"You will sleep here," he says.

"Yes, Captain Lir," she replies.

A tentacle tip brushes down her cheek. Drifts across her lips. She resists the perverse urge to taste it.

"Tomorrow," he says.

"Yes, Captain Lir," she says. Tomorrow she's going to kill him if she can. Tomorrow she's going to get off this planet. Tomorrow the Doctor will come for her.

Or, most likely, tomorrow she'll wake up and this nightmare will be over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's a dream come true. Seriously, wonderfully a dream come fucking true. That's JACK. And not the wounded-but-immortal clingy dishclout he left back in Cardiff. No. This is a raw Jack. A YOUNG Jack. Still fulltime with the Time Agency, no doubt, which means he's going to have his memory wiped, which means the Doctor can do whatever he bloody well pleases with no repercussions. And if memory (and the rather amazing holo-vids during Amy's auction) serves, there's an equally-scrumptious partner around here somewhere. Have to keep an eye out for that one, but in the meantime…

He sidles up to Jack, who's pounding down shots of something vaguely yellowish. He can smell the alcohol in it from here. "Hello."

Jack does a rather telling double-take. Yup, the lad was hoping to get the drop on him. Still an amateur when it comes to subterfuge or anything subtle. (Worst. Conman. Ever.) But what Jack lacks in smarts, he makes up for in sexy. And the Doctor's going to shag him through the nearest thing resembling a bed, and then leave him again. And he won't even know who he's dealing with.

"Well, hello." At least Jack's not bothering with the American accent. Would be wasted out here anyway. His native accent is a warm drawl with just a hint of Castilian lisp to make it even sexier. "And you are?"

"Thirsty," he says smoothly. "And you're going to buy me a drink."

Jack's lashes dip. He gives the Doctor a long, slow once-over. He enjoys the almost tangible trace of those blue, blue eyes, down and then up. This new body is made for narrow escapes, fast chases, and sex. (Witness the shag-a-thon he's been enjoying with Amy.) But, the Doctor still hasn't broken this new form in on a man yet, and young-Jack here would be a perfect opportunity, even if fucking him didn't have the most fantastic metaphoric significance.

Jack's eyes smoulder lazily by the time they meet the Doctor's again. "You seem pretty sure about that."

He'd almost forgotten how that chili-spiced musical drawl affected his Ninth. He's out of practice at resisting, even if he were motivated to try. Now he's more determined than ever to claim what's rightfully his, a little earlier than before. He returns the slow grin, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, the other hip cocked against the bar. A slight movement of hips to attract Jack's infallible eye to the goods. "I am… sure, that is. So… drink?"

Jack leans back a little, all blue eyes and charming grin. Displays his own well-muscled and gorgeous wares. "It'd be my pleasure."

He really should know better, for though he eagle-eyes the barman innocently pouring the drink (no additives, no poisons, no funny business), he fails to keep any sense open for anyone sneaking up behind him.

As soon as he's tipped the drink to his lips, looking over the rim of the glass at Jack, a warm hand presses to his neck. Energy scrambler. Fuck. He HATES these things. The tech gives him a massive sodding headache. Makes it hard to keep his balance. And if the stupid apes set it too high, he'll drain off quantum energy, like being bled to death drop by drop.

Jack catches him as he staggers forward. Snaps on a pair of wrist-cuffs, quick as you please.

The partner beats him to it. "Is that really necessary?"

"Better safe than sorry." Jack waggles his eyebrows. "Besides, handcuffs are kinkier."

The partner grabs his other side. Beautiful cheekbones and GOD does this fucking HURT. "We're not in this for kinks; we're in this for profit."

"When are those ever mutually exclusive?" Jack grins. "Now ramp down the scrambler and we'll have some real fun."

"With this one?" The partner scoffs. "You want a repeat of Tau Ceti Five?"

Jack sulks. "I MEANT to be naked."

"Yeah," he partner says, unconvinced. "And the testicle electrodes, sounding rods, and mag-lock manacles were your idea too?"

Jack pouts prettily. "It was just starting to get interesting when you showed up."

The partner rolls his eyes. "You never learn."

Jack, sulking again, heaves the Doctor a bit higher. "Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A sharp slap across the face startles Amy awake.

"I will be cruel," murmurs a low, sexy voice.

She reacts at once. Her hands are free. Dunno when that happened. Doesn't matter. Lir's looming at the edge of the bed. Large. Aggressive. Real. Pulsing greyish-purple and red in rapid stripes. Tentacles like whips grab at her. She fights them. Knocks them away. Punches. Slaps. Kicks. Claws at his eyes. He retreats. She scrambles out of the weird bed. Runs across the floor. He trips her. Catches her by the ankles.

The floor's smooth. Nothing to grab onto as he drags her close. He's faster and stronger, but she's not about to lose. She turns over. Surges straight up, aiming for eyes. He knocks her to the ground. Sharp slaps set her ears ringing. She kicks and bites and claws. Sinks her teeth into one of his limbs. He hisses in pain. Knocks her off of him. Wraps merciless tentacles around her jaw and throat. Grabs her by the wrists. Encircles her legs. No getting out. No escape.

He pins her to the floor with yet more tentacles. (How many of these fucking things ARE there?) Wrenches her knees apart. Rips out the plug in her cunt.

She screams. Struggles.

He waits, calm and strong in his victory.

"You will be silent while I take my pleasure," he says.

"Fuck you!" she spits.

Tentacle-click. Pain shivers down her body. She shudders under him.

He lets her suffer until she runs out of curses. Tentacle-click.

He chuckles. "Well done, Amy. You're faster and more merciless than I expected."

He strokes up the inside of her thigh. She struggles bodily, trying to lever against his body to throw him off of her.

Tentacle-click. Pain.

"You will be silent while I take my pleasure," he says again, with the casual air of someone who knows he's won.

Tentacle-click. Breathless, she bites her lip to keep from snarling at him again.

He bends closer. Pulses in hypnotic patterns. She relaxes in spite of herself, entranced by the fascinating dance of colour and texture over his skin. He's weirdly beautiful, though she knows she should fight. She will fight. In another minute.

"Beautiful," he purrs.

She remembers herself. Tenses beneath him.

He holds her firmly, a warning. Strokes down the inside of her thigh. "If you remain silent while I take my pleasure, you will be allowed to come when I'm finished."

It's not exactly the most persuasive proposal, but she's not about to let this fucker win either. Fine. He wants silent? She can out-stubborn him.

Pale green and mauve-shading-red. "Good."

She expects him to just hold her down and force her. And though he is holding her down and her quim's pretty much bared to the elements, he makes no move to shove anything inside her. It's a weird omission. She figured she knew what he wanted -- make her submit and maybe cry a little -- but that's not what he's doing.

Tentacle-tips thread into her hair. She bites down hard on her lip, because it's quite the freaky sensation. He pulls her hair. Forces her head up so her chin rests on her breastbone and she's looking down along her own body. She bites down even harder on her lip at what he wants her to see.

She's seen guys wank -- sometimes clients were a little confused about what kind of "dancing" they were paying for. She's seen hands on cocks. Mouths on cocks. One guy even fucked his girlfriend while she danced and pretended not to notice. (He was an excellent tipper.) But this beats everything.

Lir's cock pulses pale green and red. Tentacles swirl around it. Stroke in concentric rings and spirals. It's completely gross and utterly hypnotic. She's kind of glad to have the excuse of the fingers in her hair, because then it can be his fault that she's watching, because of course she'd never watch on her own. It's not fascinating at all. Not hypnotic and fuck NO she is not the least bit aroused. She's just humouring him so she can survive and do whatever it takes to make it back to her Doctor. She has to do this. She has no choice but to watch the fascinating turning and twisting (and think of the way he felt when he fucked her.)

She shuts her eyes, just for a moment, because she knows the bastard'll shock her again for not watching. Okay. She's watching. And it's doing it for him. His colours flicker and speed. The harsh hiss of breath. He's strange and utterly alien (and beautiful) and unless she's mistaken he's about to…

Hot come splashes her cheek. Jets across the chains on her chest. Douses her quim with liquid heat.

She breathes a little faster, but doesn't make a sound.

Chuckling, he traces patterns on her skin. Like finger-paint, only weirder. He rubs come-doused tentacle-tips against her clit. She avoids his eyes. Bites her lip until she tastes blood. No. She feels nothing. She refuses to be aroused, no matter how good he feels.

He tweaks the end of her nose with one bifurcated tentacle. She glares at him.

"Ahh," he sighs. "There's the fire."

He flips her onto her belly. She takes advantage of his relaxed grip to try to scramble out from under him. He hauls her close. Encircles her arms to the wrists. Holds them out to either side of her body. Forces her onto her knees.

She's breathing hard, but stays silent.

He holds her knees tight together. Bends her over yet more tentacles, like she's a naughty child put over someone's knee. Whatever's going to happen next, she will take out of his hide in pieces.

A lash across her arse. He drags the tentacle slowly up her slit. The flick of a tentacle-tip across her clit.

Two lashes. A slow drag up her quim. Two flicks.

Three lashes. A slow drag up and down her quim. Almost breaching her. A fluttering over her clit.

She has to find a new spot on her lip or she'll bite through it.

The fluttering on her clit continues. Four lashes, harder than the last. The first tease just inside.

Harder rubbing on her clit. Five lashes, each rocking her. She blinks back tears, but doesn't even whimper. Two teasing tips inside her. She doesn't want him to make her come.

Six lashes. He's frigging her sweetly. Something thrusts inside. Then two, or is it three? His "fingers" move so quickly it's hard to tell.

Seven lashes. She has to stop herself from leaning into them. Her clit's swollen now. Pulsing with his strokes. Deeper thrusts inside her quim.

She swallows the moan and hates him for it.

Eight lashes. It really fucking hurts, and she really doesn't want him to stop, even as she knows he has to stop or she'll be unable to keep quiet. Full fucking -- at least four of them inside. He teases her clit until she almost gives up and begs him for it.

But no. He doesn't get to win. She can outlast him.

Nine lashes. He withdraws everything. Her arse is stinging. Throbbing. (And dammit, this would be the point at which the Doctor would just fuck her good and hard until they both came.) She bows her head, determined not to let him break her.

He shifts them both. She's no longer bent over his "knee" but is kneeling, arms straight out. He's behind her, hot and wanting. She flashes with guilty heat at the memory of last night. Being full to overflowing with him. It should be traumatic and disgusting to think about -- being forced and ravished -- but instead…

Gentle tentacle-tips part her labia. The air's cool against her heat. His cock brushes her swollen slit. Unmistakeable. The flanges are even more pronounced when her legs are lashed together like this. He drags his cock up. Down. Bumps lightly against her clit. Again, it takes every ounce of her willpower not to just beg him to fuck her. Instead, she waits, bound and helpless. When he fucks her, it won't be her fault. She can truly say he made her do this. She had no choice. She was his slave.

He presses slowly forward, stretching her until his cock is buried as deep as it'll go. Her breath hisses in. It feels so good. He holds her hips. She bows her head, desperate for him to take what he (they) want.

"You were born to be used this way," he says.

He begins to thrust. Hard. Slow. Deep. His cock claims her. His voice is harsh in her ear, counting the strokes. "… seven… eight… nine."

She's right on the edge…

He pulls out.

She waits, holding her breath. Her cunt twitches, empty and aching to be filled.

It's an eternity.

She refuses to move or make a sound.

He chuckles, a low sound of pleasure. "You are mine, Amy."

Ten lashes. She almost doesn't make it, but this has to be the end. Has to be. She can do it. She will do it. Her arse is burning. Her quim is burning. She'll die if he doesn't…

And then he thrusts into her. Fills her full of the thick heat of his cock. So different from the Doctor's coolness. And instead of thrusting, he just stays there inside her, impaling her. He's deep. Fluttering, like every flange has a mind of its own. Confusing and strange. If he just fucked her normally, she'd come for sure. Instead, he holds her. Makes sounds like this is doing it for him.

"I've wanted you like this," he whispers. "Since the first moment I saw you."

Faster movement, like being stroked with fingers that never reach quite the right place. She's mad for release. Can't move. Can't resist. Can't do anything but hope…

Hot, wet come. He gushes inside her. Twice. Three times. A final half-hearted shudder against her arse.

He shoves her to the floor.

She catches herself, too stunned to fight.

He turns her over. Pries her mouth open. Pries her knees apart. Thrusts a tentacle into her mouth. It tastes of something sludgy and horrible. He strokes her throat. Forces her to swallow. Another tentacle invades her quim. Smears something inside. Shoves the plug back into her.

Then he leaves her there.

She's about to spit when the drug hits her bloodstream. Twin points -- mouth and groin. Pleasure. Mad. Complete. Consuming pleasure. It arches her back. Ripples through her body. Can't see. Can't speak. Writhing. Consuming. Burning. Flowing. She comes apart. Comes to pieces. Comes screaming.

It goes on and on and on. She screams and howls like a woman possessed. Rides wave after wave of pleasure. So good. God, so good. Higher and higher as if each orgasm feeds the next. Unbelievable. Miraculous. Perfect.

When at last she recovers her sanity, she's sprawled on the floor. Her mouth still tastes awful and she aches in weird places, but somehow she doesn't care. Everything throbs pleasantly between her legs.

Notch-Ear sits on his haunches, watching her with cool amusement.

She pulls herself together. Hauls herself somewhat clumsily up to sitting.

"He gives you gift." Somehow she expected low and gruff, but Notch-Ear's voice is more squeaky than threatening. No wonder they don't talk much.

"Gift?" If he's squeaking, she's croaking. Fuck. How long was she screaming?

"Sulamid male excretion. All pleasure." The way he flicks his ears looks like laughter. "Captain comes hard, makes special. Aliens pay big price. You get for free."

She spits pointedly. Wipes her mouth.

The ears shift again, this time facing back and flat against the head. Angry. That's angry. "Lucky human." He rises to his feet. "Don't be stupid."

Still sullen, she looks down. Submission is probably wise here. She could really use another bath and something to wash her mouth out.

Notch-Ear snaps a lead on her. Pulls it taut.

"Where are we going?" When he unsheathes claws, she gets obediently enough to her feet.

"Clean up," he says. He jerks the lead for her to follow. "He takes you out."


End file.
